How Spurgeon makes an abstraction concrete: A great strength of Spurgeon’s preaching lies in his ability to make abstract concepts concrete, tangible. Ideas have very little effect upon us until we bring them down from the realm of idea and place in the tangible world. A great deal of doctrinal preaching fails because it treats doctrine as a bare idea rather than a tangible fact. (Incidentally, the same is true of all discourse. We little discourse in the public sphere beyond religion and politics which is meant to move people into action or belief — no wait, there is advertising, which is wholly concrete. The abstract is abstracted from advertising, hidden under picture and demands).

Consider. First the abstract proposition:

And first the sin of unbelief will appear to be extremely heinous when we remember that it is the parent of every other iniquity.

The proposition is that unbelief is the predicate of all other sin: we cannot sin without unbelief. Paul makes this point

23 But whoever has doubts is condemned if he eats, because the eating is not from faith. For whatever does not proceed from faith is sin.

Romans 14:23 (ESV). How then does Spurgeon drive this point home? First, he repeats and rephrases: this is critical in oral discourse. You cannot assume that someone has caught the full wait of your words on the first pass. Repetition and rephrasing are extremely useful:

There is no crime which unbelief will not beget.

Then Spurgeon makes an interesting move to slow down the issue:

I think that the fall of man is very much owing to it.

He does not say, The fall of man was caused by unbelief. Rather, he begins with “I think”. There is a matter of meditation not demand. Let’s think about this together. He is drawing his audience up alongside to contemplate with him:

It was in this point that the devil tempted Eve. He said to her, “Yea, hath God said, ye shall not eat of every tree of the garden?” He whispered and insinuated a doubt, “Yea, hath God said so?” as much as to say, “Are you quite sure he said so?”

Here, he turns the event into a play. Come here with me and let’s watch the primeval temptation.

It was by means of unbelief—that thin part of the wedge—that the other sin entered; curiosity and the rest followed; she touched the fruit, and destruction came into this world.

Some of the weight of this image will be lost here: “the wedge”. We don’t cut firewood (at least those of us who live in cities — which is almost everyone; my family in Montana buys pellets). The wedge of a device shaped like an ax head. It was placed against a piece of wood to be split, and a hammer was brought against it.

Since that time, unbelief has been the prolific parent of all guilt. An unbeliever is capable of the vilest crime that ever was committed. Unbelief, sirs! why it hardoned the heart of Pharoah—it gave license to the tongue of blaspheming Rabshakeh—yea, it became a deicide, and murdered Jesus.

Here in quick procession he moves from Adam to Christ. Spurgeon cannot see anything without seeing the Cross:

Unbelief!—it has sharpened the knife of the suicide! it has mixed many a cup of poison; thousands it has brought to the halter; and many to a shameful grave, who have murdered themselves and rushed with bloody hands before their Creator’s tribunal, because of unbelief.

This move is extraordinary: the reference to “suicide” brings us to Judas. He he does not dwell on Judas, rather Spurgeon makes the general point that suicide is the effect of every unbelief. He doesn’t speak of hanging oneself, but rather of poison: Spurgeon broadens the terror. If you are now in unbelief, you are mixing yourself a glass of poison.

All who are judged guilty on the Last Day have committed suicide.

May I now stop to make a point: The Gospel is plainly this: you can do nothing of merit to avoid damnation, but God has done all. No one is saved because he is better than anyone. We are saved when we admit that we are not so.

I am a Christian because I am possessed by a moral certainty that I am and never will be “better” than any man. I am so well acquainted with my sin, that I cannot believe that any man is worse than me.

Here Spurgeon makes a point of common grace: the only reason there is no more sin in the world is that Spirit of God has restrained that sin.

Give me an unbeliever—let me know that he doubts God’s word—let me know that he distrusts his promise and his threatening; and with that for a premise, I will conclude that the man shall, by-and-bye unless there is amazing restraining power exerted upon him, be guilty of the foulest and blackest crimes. Ah! this is a Beelzebub sin; like Beelzebub, it is the leader of all evil spirits. It is said of Jeroboam that he sinned and made Israel to sin; and it may be said of unbelief that it not only sins itself, but makes others sin; it is the egg of all crime, the seed of every offence; in fact everything that is evil and vile lies couched in that one word—unbelief.

C. H. Spurgeon, “The Sin of Unbelief,” in The New Park Street Pulpit Sermons, vol. 1 (London: Passmore & Alabaster, 1855), 19. Spurgeon then makes the point that all believers sin from the same failure: it is unbelief that leads to sin. There is no sin without unbelief.

Now let us consider the rhetorical parts. Although he argues for the proposition elsewhere in the sermon, here he seeks not make you think that unbelief is a sin; but rather, to make you feel that unbelief is a heinous sin. This section functions as an introduction into the catalogue of sins which flow from unbelief.

Therefore, at this point, he raises the emotional strain so that you will willing consider the danger of this sin.

First, he states the proposition: it does not require proof to know unbelief is a sin. Thus, it requires only a look at unbelief to realize it is a sin.

He first begins with a series of three questions, all which have the same introductory formula (Is it not ….). All three questions demand an emphatic “Yes!”

While the three questions are parallel, they also show development:

Part one:

The first question states the general proposition:

Is it not a sin for a creature to doubt the word of its Maker?

The second question repeats the general proposition but it expands both parts

Is it not a crime and an insult to the Divinity, for me, an atom, a particle of dust, to dare to deny his words?

“Sin” becomes “a crime and an insult to the Divinity”. “Creature” becomes “me, an atom, a particle of dust”. “Doubt” becomes “dare to deny”

The third repetition again expands the proposition.

Is it not the very summit of arrogance and extremity of pride for a son of Adam to say, even in his heart, “God I doubt thy grace; God I doubt thy love; God I doubt thy power?”

Here “sin” become “the very summit of arrogance and extremity of pride”. “Creature” becomes “a son of Adam”. The final element “doubt’ is expanded and is made concrete with a very particular three-part question:

to say, even in his heart,

“God I doubt thy grace;

God I doubt thy love;

God I doubt thy power?”

Part Two A.

Second, he makes two forms of comparison. The first comparison entails a weighing of unbelief against all other sin. On one side he balls up all other other sins (“everything that is vile”) and says that unbelief is worse than the lot. Notice that he does not merely say use the conclusion, but he also makes a list of various sins. The list is three basic groups: violence, blasphemy, sexual immorality. The short list gives some depth and color to “everything that is vile”.

Part Two B

He then ends is a list of seven labels for the sin of unbelief. The list is broken up at 4-5 with a repetition of the verbal phrase “It is”. Each item on the list begins with “The” and includes the (implied) verb “is”. The last two lines are parallel substituting the emphatic titles (master-piece/chief work) and the owner (Satan).

Figures of repetition for emphasis are easily overdone. Spurgeon avoids that fault in a couple of ways. First, not every paragraph is this emphatic and repetitive.

Second, he does not use one type of repetition (for instance merely repeating a list of synonyms for a final noun, “A sin, a crime, a rebellion”). He asks questions. He uses two types of labeling repetitions.

Third, within the three forms employed, he creates variety. The three questions are parallel, but they vary in length and rhythm. The two labeling repetitions vary significantly between themselves in form. They also show rhythmic variation within the form. The first set of labels breaks into three distinct parts. The second labeling form has a break mid-way three, repeating the “it is” to gain control for the final couplet.

Fourth, the repetitions are not bare repetitions of sound. He increases the sense. There is an increase in information as he moves along. For instance, in the first three questions he shows that doubt is both unthinkable for a creature (by emphasizing both the lowliness of the creature (“an atom”) and the rebelliousness of the creature (“a son of Adam”). He also notes that doubt does not require a great act of rebellion, it is an unspoken whisper in the heart which is sufficient to create the sin.

While such rhetorical forms are not common in most preaching they are typically repetitions without point beyond emphasis. There is no development of the idea in the repetition of parallel nouns. The parallels were chosen often because they provide no change in the idea.

I saw this on social media today. This is good example of misleading argument:

My favorite part of the Kavanaugh controversy is how people who are absolutely convinced they know exactly what happened in Judea 2,000 years ago have gaslit many Americans into believing it is literally impossible to know what happened at an event in 1983.

Here, our correspondent has misstated both the Christian position on the resurrection and the argument respecting an alleged event involving Judge Kavanaugh.

Strawmen.

It is inaccurate to say that anyone is certain of everything which happened in Judea during the life of Jesus. No one claims to have comprehensive knowledge of the time and place. In terms of total facts, far more is unknown than known. The Christian position is that the facts which are known are sufficient to draw certain factual conclusions (such as the Resurrection).

The circumstance involving Judge Kavanaugh differs on the facts available at this time. If the only two facts are one person asserting X and another asserting not-X and there are no other facts, then drawing a conclusion is impossible on that basis alone. The difficulty with Kavanaugh’s case is a lack of a sufficiently detailed allegation (the X, and not-X are not even sufficiently defined) and a lack of evidence beyond the ultimate conclusion.

There are a number of facts which could easily lead to a definite conclusion. For instance, there were a definite statement of date, time and place, one could conclude that the event was more or less probable.

Thus, if the alleged event (again, I have no idea as to the truth, because I do not have a sufficient number of facts from which to draw a conclusion. Anyone who has had access to the publicly available statements “knows” anything is simply wrong.) took place on Date 1 and Kavanaugh was in another Michigan on that date, it is not likely that he took a jet home for this bad act and then returned without notice.

We can look to other corroborating facts: It is reported (goodness knows what has actually been said, this whole story is awash in false statements and nonsense). Are there witnesses? What do they say? Have the witnesses or alleged actors given consistent or inconsistent statements? Etc.

The Resurrection is quite different: it is a conclusion based upon a very definite statement and supported by substantial supporting evidence.

Indeed, the fundamental reason to question the Resurrection is not the evidence but the strangeness of the event. If the Resurrection were a normal historical event, it would be unquestioned.

But what about the passage of years?

As we move further from an event, the number of facts recoverable will lessen. If there are witnesses, the memory of witnesses will fade [I will make a note on eyewitness testimony below.] Witnesses will also become unavailable over the course of time (either through death or becoming lost to interview by moving or whatnot).

Physical facts will also diminish over time (duration will depend upon the nature of the artifact).

How does this not adversely affect the Christian claim?

Christians are not trying to recover facts from 2,000 years. The facts were established and recorded at that time. We are not trying to establish that information today for the first time. The 2,000 years misstates the salient fact of time.

Let’s consider an example: Imagine we have access to a trial transcript from 1940. The events underlying the trial took place one year earlier. If we were to speak of what happened in 1939, the time period between fact and conclusion is 1 year – not 78 years.

In Kavanaugh’s case we are trying to recover facts for the first time 35 years after the event (the 2012 notes are problematic at best. Even the accuser says the notes are wrong).

What about eyewitness testimony? Isn’t it unreliable?

Yes, and no. Eyewitness testimony about stressful events which took place at one time and over a short period of time are very often wrong – often wildly wrong. Crime victims routinely give flawed testimony about the criminal event: they are stressed, confused; their attention is misdirected; they try to reconstruct the event and make numerous errors in the recreation.

The Kavanaugh event concerns eyewitness testimony about an extremely stressful event. An important fact, which may weigh in favor of the accuser is whether she knew Kavanaugh prior to the event. If this was their first (alleged) interaction, she would more easily misidentify him. If they had been friends for years, she does not need to describe his appearance for the first time.

Compare that to testimony about normal events. You know would likely give excellent testimony about the color of your car, the number windows in your bedroom, the number of drawers in your dresser, how often you get paid for work, et cetera. Routine, repeated, normal events are fundamentally different than trying to remember what it was like to be robbed.

On this point, we should note that information obtained in therapy of a long unexpressed painful event which (supposedly) is causing significant bad effects in the present has a reputation for uncovering things which never occurred. Moreover, patients routinely lie to therapists and clients lie to lawyers (I’m not saying always; but it happens enough that it is not a strange thing).

Christianity is based upon claims from multiple witnesses about an event with corroborating physical evidence. For instance, if anyone had been able to produce Jesus’ body in Jerusalem, it would have stopped Christianity at its birth (Crossan’s claim that it was eaten by dogs is silly. Someone could have just said, we say dogs eat it. No one made that claim until Crossan – which a claim which suffers from the 2,000 year distance).

What about prejudice?

The Kavanaugh accusation is a great example of the policy behind Evidence Code section 352. The code essentially forbids the introduction of evidence which would prejudice a juror more than it would inform a juror. For example, let us say the defendant is a gang member charged with a particular crime. In most instances, the jury would never hear about the gang membership. If they heard he was a gang member, they would be more likely to find him guilty because he was in a gang than because he engaged in this particular bad act.

The people who speak confidently about what happened in the Kavanaugh case typically betray a personal prejudice (I was assaulted, therefore, she was telling the truth; I was falsely accused, therefore, she is lying; I hate/adhere to Kavanaugh’s judicial philosophy, therefore, ….).

Most of the people providing their opinion of the event have voiced personal prejudice: their opinion is worthless as to the truth of the accusation.

Well, weren’t the Apostles prejudiced in favor of Jesus? That misstates the issue. They were seriously prejudiced against the possibility of Jesus being resurrected from the dead in the manner in which he did (N.T. Wright’s Resurrection covers the evidence here exhaustively). Their prejudice makes it unlikely they would mistakenly believe Jesus had been resurrected.

What about reputation and motivation?

This does have some bearing. One who has a history of lying, might lie more easily than others. But no amount of lying before proves one is lying as to the instant assertion. No amount of prior conduct proves anything about conduct on one particular instance.

With Kavanaugh, the parties both have strong reasons to tell the truth; and they both have significant motive to lie. In fact, the pressure of examination is likely to cause each party to dig in their heels to insist upon their position (recanting has become more costly than the alternative – especially since the possibility of suffering penalty is minimal in this event). (There are event plausible scenarios under both believe that they are each telling the truth.)

This is a point which weighs very heavily in favor of the apostolic witness. They all suffered greatly (most often to death) for their testimony.

But don’t people die for false believes all the time?Yes, but that isn’t the case here.

Consider three scenarios:

1) Alleged Historical Event Z – never happened.

2) P1 who relates Z to P2.

3) P1 has lied to P2.

4) P2 believes P1

5) P2 dies based upon the false belief related by P1.

1) Historical Event Z.

2) Witnessed by P1.

3) P1 knows, based upon personal experience that Z took place.

4) P1 dies for Z.

1) Alleged Historical Event Z.

2) P1 knows it never happened.

3) P1 claims that Z happened.

4) P1 is challenged with death over Z.

5) P1 personally knows that Z is false.

6) P1 recants to stay alive.

People will recant things they believe to be true to save their life. It would be a remarkable day indeed for someone to go to death for a fact which they personally knew was false.

Conclusion

In conclusion, an analogy between Judge Kavanaugh’s circumstance and the Resurrection is poorly drawn.

As for the Judge and his accuser. I honestly have no definite idea what happened. I am not even certain what facts and accusation have been established. I have read any number of assertions made confidentially by people who are in no position to know any more than I do. I have seen a great deal of gossip, slander and vicious stupidity. (Apparently, there have been significant death threats made against almost everyone involved.)

I have seen that bias and prejudice have more importance than any consideration of evidence (not to say burden of proof — which is critical in this instance).

This political tempest is very sad; it has often been wicked; and I fear no matter how it ends, the result will be a further deterioration of our social fabric.

Many researchers have created false memories in normal individuals; what is more, many of these subjects are certain that the memories are real. In one well-known study, Loftus and her colleague Jacqueline Pickrell gave subjects written accounts of four events, three of which they had actually experienced. The fourth story was fiction; it centered on the subject being lost in a mall or another public place when he or she was between four and six years old. A relative provided realistic details for the false story, such as a description of the mall at which the subject’s parents shopped. After reading each story, subjects were asked to write down what else they remembered about the incident or to indicate that they did not remember it at all. Remarkably about one third of the subjects reported partially or fully remembering the false event. In two follow-up interviews, 25 percent still claimed that they remembered the untrue story, a figure consistent with the findings of similar studies.

What then can help guarantee a good memory? Notice that events which are traumatic are questionable. Notice that distant, vague events are questionable. Compare that to events which take place over a period of time, events which are witnessed by multiple persons, events subject to objective independent corroboration. And with the case of the Scripture, Jesus speaks of receiving supernatural assistance of the Spirit. John 14:26

Composite authorship is clearly indicated by a number of linguistic peculiarities and literary unevennesses.[2] We observe the oscillation between various names for Pooh, an unerring pointer to diversity of authorship. He is called within the space of half a page (W 3.31)[3]:

This is a verse in the Bible which is used routinely to taunt believers: the Bible says you can sell you child as a slave:

7 And if a man sell his daughter to be a maidservant, she shall not go out as the menservants do.

Exodus 21:7(AV). Newer translations have the word “slave” in place of maidservant. For instance, the television show the West Wing, the President character says: “I’m interested in selling my youngest daughter into slavery as sanctioned in Exodus 21 : 7. She’s a Georgetown sophomore, speaks fluent Italian, always cleared the table when it was her turn. What would a good price for her be?”

Admittedly, selling a child sounds horrible to an affluent, well fed family. So let’s think about this for a moment: if we assume that Israelites loved their children as much as we do, we must assume that sending a child out of the home would be only undertaken in the most extraordinary circumstances.

Remember that there was no welfare state at that time. Most people lived in subsistence agriculture. The threat of starvation was real and likely constant.

Julian Pitt-Rivers, a British anthropologist who published a classic study of a traditional Andalusian community in the early 1950s, wrote that it was common in the rural south for children from impoverished families to be sent to the mountains to look after sheep and goats in exchange for money.

Let us consider again the passage in Exodus 21:7. First, we must remember that the covenant promised material wealth — if the people of Israel fulfilled their requirements under the covenant. Thus, poverty was the result of sin. We must also realize that there was a framework of kinship and other mechanisms built into the law to prevent poverty. Thus, for any family to become so destitute that Exodus 21:7 was a reality spoke to a serious degradation of society overall.

The law was not given to save anyone-Israel was never a kingdom of saints. The Bible makes it plain the people were repeatedly in vicious, sinful rebellion.

Next consider that the purpose of the passage is not approve or condone selling one’s children as slaves/servants (in a subsistence economy even the well-off live miserable lives). The purpose of the law was alleviate the damage which could come even in this wretched state. This passage is a matter of protection, a command to stop the sin and brutality. It was a limitation not a grant of authority.

Rather than tell a story (as is common in current preaching), Spurgeon picks up his text and makes an observation:

If memory is a command, then it implies that we might not remember:

The text implies the possibility of forgetfulness concerning him whom gratitude and affection should constrain them to remember.

C. H. Spurgeon, “The Remembrance of Christ,” in The New Park Street Pulpit Sermons, vol. 1 (London: Passmore & Alabaster, 1855), 9. He will then do two things in the introduction: create an emotional connection; then, analyze the trouble.

First, to grain attention, he is going to elongate the “crime”, enforce the matter by means of a repetition of the initial word “forget”, and then turn the question upon his listeners (this is not the entire section) by means of asking two parallel questions:

It seems at first sight too gross a crime to lay at the door of converted men. It appears almost impossible that those who have been redeemed by the blood of the dying Lamb should ever forget their Ransomer; that those who have been loved with an everlasting love by the eternal Son of God, should ever forget that Son; but if startling to the ear, it is alas, too apparent to the eye to allow us to deny the fact.

Forget him who ne’er forgot us!

Forget him who poured his blood forth for our sins!

Forget him who loved us even to the death!

Can it be possible?

Yes it is not only possible, but conscience confesses that it is too sadly a fault of all of us, that we can remember anything except Christ.

The object which we should make the monarch of our hearts, is the very thing we are most inclined to forget. Where one would think that memory would linger, and unmindfulness would be an unknown intruder, that is the spot which is desecrated by the feet of forgetfulness, and that the place where memory too seldom looks. I appeal to the conscience of every Christian here:

Can you deny the truth of what I utter?

Do you not find yourselves forgetful of Jesus? etc.

C. H. Spurgeon, “The Remembrance of Christ,” in The New Park Street Pulpit Sermons, vol. 1 (London: Passmore & Alabaster, 1855), 9. By means of the rhetorical structure, he has made them “feel” the importance of what he has to convey. Notice he doesn’t say, “this is very important listen to me.” Rather, he forces them to confront the issue and then describes what they both see. The listener comes to know that the question is important: there is no telling them: this is showng them.

Having then draw their hearts to the “crime” of forgetting, he asks the question What causes us to forget? In this section, he lessens the rhetorical intensity because his purpose here is more to think about the matter than feel the enormity of forgetting.

Introduces the answer:

The cause of this is very apparent: it lies in one or two facts.

First answer: In the first section he gives the answer in terms of “we”:

We forget Christ, because regenerate persons as we really are, still corruption and death remain even in the regenerate. We forget him because we carry about with us the old Adam of sin and death. If we were purely new-born creatures, we should never forget the name of him whom we love. If we were entirely regenerated beings, we should sit down and meditate on all our Saviour did and suffered; all he is; all he has gloriously promised to perform; and never would our roving affections stray; but centred, nailed, fixed eternally to one object, we should continually contemplate the death and sufferings of our Lord.

He then turns the knife upon himself:

But alas! we have a worm in the heart, a pest-house, a charnel-house within, lusts, vile imaginations, and strong evil passions, which, like wells of poisonous water, send out continually streams of impurity. I have a heart, which God knoweth, I wish I could wring from my body and hurl to an infinite distance; a soul which is a cage of unclean birds, a den of loathsome creatures, where dragons haunt and owls do congregate, where every evil beast of ill-omen dwells; a heart too vile to have a parallel—“deceitful above all things and desperately wicked.” This is the reason why I am forgetful of Christ.

By making himself the object of failure, he brings himself into the world of his listeners. He is not talking down to them; he is coming along side them. By confessing his weakness, he lessens the resistance that might come at this point. He will make the same shift in pronouns in the second answer:

Nor is this the sole cause; I suspect it lies somewhere else too.

We forget Christ because there are so many other things around us to attract our attention. “But,” you say, “they ought not to do so, because though they are around us, they are nothing in comparison with Jesus Christ: though they are in dread proximity to our hearts, what are they compared with Christ?” But do you know, dear friends, that the nearness of an object has a very great effect upon its power? The sun is many, many times larger than the moon, but the moon has a greater influence upon the tides of the ocean than the sun, simply because it is nearer, and has a greater power of attraction.

So I find that a little crawling worm of the earth has more effect upon my soul

than the glorious Christ in heaven;

a handful of golden earth,

a puff of fame, a shout of applause,

a thriving business,

my house,

my home,

will affect me more than all the glories of the upper world; yea, than the beatific vision itself: simply because earth is near, and heaven is far away.

What we would most often hear in this sort of section is a series of questions: “Do you love fame more than Christ?” And the effect is for the listener to drop out: No, I love Christ more. But Spurgeon takes away that defense by saying “I” love all these things more. And in hearing him charge himself, we see the same fault in ourselves.

He then ends with an encouragement:

Happy day, when I shall be borne aloft on angels’ wings to dwell for ever near my Lord, to bask in the sunshine of his smile, and to be lost in the ineffable radiance of his lovely countenance. We see then the cause of forgetfulness; let us blush over it; let us be sad that we neglect our Lord so much, and now let us attend to his word, “This do in remembrance of me,” hoping that its solemn sounds may charm away the demon of base ingratitude.

There are many things happening here, but need to notice his shifts between reason and emotion, between “we” and “I”, between charge (we forget) and the end point of encouragement: some day we will not.

The sum effect of his introduction is make them listener feel and know that the subject matter is of great importance. By moving from a charge to an encouragement, he makes space to want to follow him into this question of forgetting.

By comparison with Spurgeon’s “argumentation”, here is a section from Thomas Manton who is in fact making an argument. In the First Sermon of Twenty Sermons (Vol. 2, pp. 175, et seq.) Manton is Psalm 32:1-2:

Psalm 32:1–2 (AV)

1Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. 2 Blessed is the man unto whom the LORD imputeth not iniquity, and in whose spirit there is no guile.

Manton purposefully makes an argument, stating propositions and inferences which lead from one to the other:

The necessity that lies upon us, being all guilty before God, to seek after our justification, and the pardon of our sins by Christ. That it may sink the deeper into your minds, I shall do it in this scheme or method:—First, A reasonable nature implies a conscience; a conscience implies a law; a law implies a sanction; a sanction implies a judge, and a judgment-day (when all shall be called to account for breaking the law); and this judgment-day infers a condemnation upon all mankind unavoidably, unless the Lord will compromise the matter, and find out some way in the chancery of the gospel wherein we may be relieved. This way God hath found out in Christ, and being brought about by such a mysterious contrivance, we ought to be deeply and thankfully apprehensive of it, and humbly and broken-heartedly to quit the one covenant, and accept of the grace provided for us in the other.

Here, Manton is not interested in necessarily creating an emotional response but rather in providing information: He is making an argument to change the way in which his hearers think: “That may sink deeper into your minds.” This is ultimately a mechanism to transform another’s affections, but the effect — if successful — is more lasting than merely provoking an emotion.

It is possible to provoke an emotion which results in no change. An emotion can arise and subside — and be very powerful in while in crest, but become invisible when it wanes.

Interestingly, in the first section of his argument, Manton notes how an emotion can have a passing effect, for the worse:

A reasonable nature implies a conscience; for man can reflect upon his own actions, and hath that in him to acquit or condemn him accordingly as he doth good or evil, 1 John 3:20, 21. Conscience is nothing but the judgment a man makes upon his actions morally considered, the good or the evil, the rectitude or obliquity, that is in them with respect to rewards or punishment. As a man acts, so he is a party; but as he reviews and censures his actions, so he is a judge. Let us take notice only of the condemning part, for that is proper to our case. After the fact, the force of conscience is usually felt more than before or in the fact; because before, through the treachery of the senses, and the revolt of the passions, the judgment of reason is not so clear. I say, our passions and affections raise clouds and mists which darken the mind, and do incline the will by a pleasing violence; but after the evil action is done, when the affection ceaseth, then guilt flasheth in the face of conscience. As Judas, whose heart lay asleep all the while he was going on in his villainy, but afterwards it fell upon him. Thou hast ‘sinned in betraying innocent blood.’ When the affections are satisfied, and give place to reason, that was before condemned, and reason takes the throne again, it hath the more force to affect us with grief and fear, whilst it strikes through the heart of a man with a sharp sentence of reproof for obeying appetite before reason. Now this conscience of sin may be choked and smothered for a while, but the flame will break forth, and our hidden fears are easily revived and awakened, except we get our pardon and discharge. A reasonable nature implies a conscience.

Conscience is nothing but the judgment a man makes upon his actions morally considered

Conscience is a internal examination of our actions: Was that good or bad? Well, if we have this ability to judge ourselves, why do we not always choose the good? Because conscience varies in its strength:

After the fact, the force of conscience is usually felt more than before or in the fact;

Here is an interesting notice: we feel conscience more plainly after we sinned than before. Manton places the fault in a thoughtless flood of “passions”:

because before, through the treachery of the senses, and the revolt of the passions, the judgment of reason is not so clear.

In short, the desire for sin will swamp our conscience. The reason cannot function in the face of the dark desire:

I say, our passions and affections raise clouds and mists which darken the mind, and do incline the will by a pleasing violence; but after the evil action is done, when the affection ceaseth, then guilt flasheth in the face of conscience.

The result of this passion and sin is the return of conscience, which leaves us alone with guilt:

As Judas, whose heart lay asleep all the while he was going on in his villainy, but afterwards it fell upon him. Thou hast ‘sinned in betraying innocent blood.’ When the affections are satisfied, and give place to reason, that was before condemned, and reason takes the throne again, it hath the more force to affect us with grief and fear, whilst it strikes through the heart of a man with a sharp sentence of reproof for obeying appetite before reason.

Then passions — being a sort judgment — will appear pile upon the judgment of the conscience and bring on to despair. What then can be done in such a circumstance:

Now this conscience of sin may be choked and smothered for a while, but the flame will break forth, and our hidden fears are easily revived and awakened, except we get our pardon and discharge. A reasonable nature implies a conscience.

In the Immutability of God, Spurgeon first speaks in great praise about the immutability of God. Rather than merely saying that this is something which should excite you, he speaks in such a way, using a combination of concrete imagery and a variety of rhetorical forms of repetition (for an excellent discussion of rhetoric, and these figures see http://rhetoric.byu.edu), “Repetition is a major rhetorical strategy for producing emphasis, clarity, amplification, or emotional effect.” (You will notice such repetition on occasion, but it is usually quite stilted in the mouth of preacher — you get the sort of feeling that he is wearing someone else’s clothes and he’s terribly afraid he’ll be found out.)

But having concluded with his praise of God’s immutability, Spurgeon now raises the implicit question — is this true:

Thus having taken a great deal too much time, perhaps, in simply expanding the thought of an unchanging God, I will now try to prove that he is unchangeable, I am not much of an argumentative preacher, but one argument that I will mention is this: the very existence, and being of a God, seem to me to imply immutability.

Here is his proposition: if there is a God, then such a God must be immutable. His argument here seems to derive from Charnock’s The Existence and Attributes of God, in the chapter “On the Immutability of God” (To be fair, his first section roughly tracks Charnock’s discussion of the subject. There is certainly nothing approaching copying between Spurgeon and Charnock — but rather Spurgeon makes good use of Charnock’s masterwork and turns into propositions which could be understood from a pulpit.)

His first argument is really no more complicated that it doesn’t even make sense to say one could be God and one could change — anymore than one could be a married bachelor.

Or here is the second argument raised by Spurgeon:

Well, I think that one argument will be enough, but another good argument may be found in the fact of God’s perfection. I believe God to be a perfect being. Now, if he is a perfect being, he cannot change. Do you not see this? Suppose I am perfect to-day. If it were possible for me to change, should I be perfect tomorrow after the alteration? If I changed, I must either change from a good state to a better — and then if I could get better, I could not be perfect now-or else from a better state to a worse-and if I were worse, I should not be perfect then. If I am perfect, I cannot be altered without being imperfect. If I am perfect to-day, I must keep the same to-morrow if I am to be perfect then. So, if God is perfect, he must be the same- for change would imply imperfection now, or imperfection then.

He takes a very narrow idea: if something is perfect, it cannot be more perfect. If it could be more perfect then it wouldn’t be perfect now. This is the second argument raised by Charnock for the proof of God’s immutability, “If God were changeable, he could not be the most perfect Being.”And lest anyone think that Spurgeon was merely cribbing from Charnock it is only fair to compare Spuregon’s summary with Charnock’s original

If God were changeable, he could not be the most perfect Being. God is the most perfect Being, and possesses in himself infinite and essential goodness (Matt, v, 48): “Your heavenly Father is perfect.” If he could change from that perfection, he were not the highest exemplar and copy for us to write after. If God doth change, it must be either to a greater perfection than he had before, or to a less, mutatio ‘perfectiva vel amissiva; if he changes to acquire a perfection he had not, then he was not before the most excellent Being; necessarily, he was not what he might be; there was a defect in him, and a privation of that which is better than what he had and was; and then he was not alway the best, and so was not alway God; and being not alway God, could never be God; for to begin to be God is against the notion of God; not to a less perfection than he had; that were to change to imperfection, and to lose a perfection which he possessed before, and cease to be the best Being; for he would lose some good which he had, and acquire some evil which he was free from before. so that the sovereign perfection of God is an invincible bar to any change in him; for which way soever you cast it for a change, his supreme excellency is impaired and nulled by it: for in all change there is something from which a thing is changed, and something to which it is changed; so that on the one part there is a loss of what it had, and on the other part there is an acquisition of what it had not. If to the better, he was not perfect, and so was not God; if to the worse, he will not be perfect, and so be no longer God after that change. If God be changed, his change must be voluntary or necessary; if voluntary, he then intends the change for the better, and chose it to acquire a perfection by it; the will must be carried out to anything under the notion of some goodness in that which it desires. Since good is the object of the desire and will of the creature, evil cannot be the object of the desire and will of the Creator. And if he should be changed for the worse, when he did really intend the better, it would speak a defect of wisdom, and a mistake of that for good which was evil and imperfect in itself; and if it be for the better, it must be a motion or change for something without himself; that which he desireth is not possessed by himself, but by some other. there is, then, some good without him and above him, which is the end in this change; for nothing acts but for some end, and that end is within itself or without itself; if the end for which God changes be without himself, then there is something better than himself: besides, if he were voluntarily changed for the better, why did he not change before? If it were for want of power, he had the imperfection of weakness; if for want of knowledge of what was the best good, he had the imperfection of wisdom, he was ignorant of his own happiness; if he had both wisdom to know it, and power to effect it, it must be for want of will; he then wanted that love to himself and his own glory, which is necessary in the Supreme Being. Voluntarily he could not be changed for the worse, he could not be such an enemy to his own glory; there is nothing but would hinder its own imperfection and becoming worse. Necessarily he could not be changed, for that necessity must arise from himself, and then the difficulties spoken of before will recur, or it must arise from another; he cannot be bettered by another, because nothing hath any good but what it hath received from the hands of his bounty, and that without loss to himself, nor made worse; if anything made him worse, it would be sin, but that cannot touch his essence or obscure his glory, but in the design and nature of the sin itself (Job xxxv. 6, 7): “If thou sinnest, what dost thou against him? or if thy transgressions be multiplied, what dost thou unto him? if thou be righteous, what givest thou him; or what receives he at thy hand?” He hath no addition by the service of man, no more than the sun hath of light by a multitude of torches kindled on the earth; nor any more impair by the sins of men, than the light of the sun hath by men’s shooting arrows against it.

Spurgeon’s summary and reworking of Charnock on this point demonstrates that Spurgeon had ingested Charnock, and understood the argument well enough to teach it. He didn’t merely read Charnock, he taught Charnock.

I am going to compare this simplicity in argumentation with the rigor and logic of Manton’s preaching.

The next aspect of God’s immutability considered by Spurgeon is that God does not changes his plans. The purpose of this section of the sermon is dissuade anyone from thinking either that God does not go through with his plans, cannot go through with his plans or does not plan. To do this, he breaks up this section of his sermon along three questions. The rhetorical structure is less complex than the previous section. There are a couple of reasons for this one. One, varying up the speed of the information and density of the structure makes it easier to listen to. The rapid fire question and assertions of the previous section would quickly become overwhelming.

A second reason for the difference in structure concerns the amount of information he is trying to cover within a short period of time. The attributes of God entails everything about God. To make this point, Spurgeon asks and asserts about many attributes in clipped demanding sentences. In this section, he is considering God’s plans. Here has only one point: God makes plans and does not change them. He is not trying to lay what sort of plans God may have; only the proposition that God does not change his plans.

Spurgeon also does not consider every possible counter argument or consideration. Again, he makes a straightforward analysis: God plans and does not change his plans. Yes, of course God makes plans. God could not plan poorly and be thwarted. Therefore, God does not change his plans.

He introduces the proposition and gives a concrete example (a man planning to build); a man may build a building, but God builds planets:

Then again, God chances not in his plans. That man began to build, but was not able to finish, and therefore he changed his plan, as every wise man would do in such a case- he built upon a smaller foundation and commenced again. But has it ever been said that God began to build but was not able to finish? Nay. When he hath boundless stores at his command, and when his own right hand would create worlds as numerous as drops of morning dew, shall he ever stay because he has not power? and reverse, or alter, or disarrange his plan, because he cannot carry it out?

This introduces a technique which Spurgeon will often use, a hypothetical objector “some”. Spurgeon anticipates a question someone in his audience may have, raises and then answers the question:

“But,” say some, “perhaps God never had a plan.” Do you think God is more foolish than yourself then, sir? Do you go to work without a plan? “No,” say you, “I have always a scheme.” So has God. Every man has his plan, and God has a plan too. God is a master-mind; he arranged everything in his gigantic intellect long before he did it- and once having settled it, mark you, he never alters it. “This shall be done,” saith he, and the iron hand of destiny marks it down, and it is brought to pass. “This is my purpose,” and it stands, nor can earth or hell alter it. “This is my decree,” saith he, promulgate it angels- rend it down from the gate of heaven ye devils; but ye cannot alter the decree; it shall be done.

He argues from analogy: if even a human has a plan, how much more God. He responds to the objection with a question which undercuts the objection. He then repeats the argument in the form of an assertion: Do you use plans? Yes. How much more God. Men plan, God plans.

But not only that: God is a “master-mind”. God’s plans come to fruition and do not change. In fact, nothing could change it. The last bit reinforces the overall proposition of the section: God does not alter his plans.

Spurgeon could have raised any number of other objections than this argument. I don’t know why this particular objection seemed appropriate to him at this time.
We then come to the final third of this section of his argument: Why are even asking this question about God changing his plans. If God does plan, then what could stop it (this picks up on the last sentence – not even Hell could stop him. But here he pivots a bit: God does not have any lack which would cause him to alter his plans: he lacks neither intellect nor power.

God altereth not his plans; why should he? He is Almighty, and therefore can perform his pleasure. Why should he? He is the All-wise, and therefore cannot have planned wrongly. Why should he? He is the everlasting God, and therefore cannot die before his plan is accomplished. Why should he change?

He ends with a coda and interim application: How different is the enteral God from us. God will never change his plan — and what is his plan: to save me (which is a comfort):

Ye worthless atoms of existence, ephemera of the day! ye creeping insects upon this bay-leaf of existence! ye may change your plans, but he shall never, never change his. Then has he told me that his plan is to save me? If so, I am safe.

He concludes with a stanza from a hymn

“My name from the palms of his hands

Eternity will not erase;

Impress’d on his heart it remains,

In marks of indelible grace.”

By ending with a hymn known to the congregation, he solidifies this point in their hearts. They could even begin to hum the words to themselves as he spoke. This form of writing where someone stops to accentuate a point was quite common in the 19th Century. When I have seen done in sermons, it most often comes across as stilted and awkard. If you are going to quote a poem, be familiar with the text; practice saying it aloud. There is a great beauty in quoting some lines if it is done well. When it is done poorly, it loses the emotional benefit and just sound uncomfortable.

This hymn is “A Debtor to Mercy Alone” by Toplady:

A debtor to mercy alone, Of covenant mercy I sing; Nor fear, with Thy righteousness on, My person and offering to bring. The terrors of law and of God With me can have nothing to do; My Savior’s obedience and blood Hide all my transgressions from view

2. The work which His goodness began, The arm of His strength will complete; His promise is yea and amen, And never was forfeited yet. Things future, nor things that are now, Not all things below nor above Can make Him His purpose forego, Or sever my soul from His love.

3. My name from the palms of His hands Eternity will not erase; Impressed on His heart it remains In marks of indelible grace. Yes, I to the end shall endure, As sure as the earnest is given More happy, but not more secure, The glorified spirits in heaven.